


Legato

by words_of_a_broken_man



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bedannibal - Freeform, F/M, Literature, Masturbation, Season 3, Smut, baltimore hospital for the criminally insane, bedelia dreaming, electric-couple prompts, incarceration, jumpsuits, prompts, red dragon arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 17:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12194136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_of_a_broken_man/pseuds/words_of_a_broken_man
Summary: Alana Bloom struggles to reconcile Hannibal's visceral reaction to a mysterious package sent to his enclosure at BSPH.This is a future prompt for @electric-couple, I know this having taken my Delorean forward 6 weeks and finding myself unreasonably inspired. So I returned to the present and posted this at an inopportune moment because I'm a child and need instant gratification.





	Legato

“You’ve checked it thoroughly?” Alana Bloom flipped the heavy padded envelope over in her hands, probing the contents through the packing. 

“It’s a book, Dr Bloom.” The x-ray technician raised an eyebrow at her, unimpressed.

“Just a book?” Bloom looked incredulously at him. “Last time it was ‘just a letter’ with a side of human flesh.”

“Some things don’t show well on our equipment, ma’am.” The tech offered with a disinterested shrug, taking a mouthful of coffee. “Open it yourself then.”

Alana studied the non-descript package; it bore the stamp of a local Boston post office, no return address.

Five doors, five keys.

Time and repetition had honed her routine to a measured art now. By the time the guard opened the final series of latches, Bloom had full control of her breathing and demeanour. Years of imprisonment in such a sterile environment had only served to heighten Hannibal's senses; she steeled herself, ready for the obligatory olfactory commentary and verbal jousting. She was in control, this man little more than state property, her property; a caged animal for study.

“Hannibal.”

“Good afternoon, Alana.” Reclined across the minimalist stretcher he had been afforded in lieu of a bed, Hannibal resurfaced from a well-worn Russian copy of Brodsky’s _‘On Grief and Reason.’_

“This arrived for you this morning.” She held the envelope aloft, as if attempting to flag the attention of a disinterested child.

Hannibal slowly rose from his cot, approaching the glass barrier of his cell in silence.

“Another gift from our shy boy?” He watched her intently through the glass, inhaling purposefully. Perfume studded with shards of bracing citrus, a hint of coffee; a stain of sulfur and cigarette smoke from a few stolen moments admonishing orderlies huddled out in the loading dock seeking a moment’s respite.

“Not unless he’s taken to literature.”   Bloom produced a letter opener from inside her jacket, deftly slicing through the top of the envelope. Satisfied with the safety of the contents, she dropped it into his meal tray and slid it through.

“I no longer have the privilege of opening my own mail?” Hannibal inquired, retrieving the package.

“You lost that privilege when your correspondence became more, exotic.”

Hannibal turned the package over in his hands; handwriting instantly familiar, but the scent, perfume washing newly inked parchment…   He lifted the open end of the package and inhaled deeply, Bergamot, Amalfi lemons, Musk, Sandalwood. His eyes flickered shut and there was Florence; the dank must of academic clutter at the Palazzo, Montrachet spiked lips searing his skin and pleasures left to recall silently at night when the cameras no longer saw.

“May I have some time alone, Alana?” Hannibal inquired politely, snapping back into his enclosure; unable to suppress the urgent, visceral memory the scent afforded him.

“Show me the book.” Dr Bloom folded her arms in a demonstration of measured irritation.

“Why?” Relishing her impatience, he made a show of inhaling the contents of the packet once again, eyes closed. This scent a rare, long-lost pleasure, he happily drifted back; vividly recalling that same perfume dusting her neck, the delicate skin north of her collarbone that left her boneless in his arms when his lips danced across it, the way her body arched elegantly beneath his hands as he wrung pleasure from her night after night. Enforced celibacy an intriguing penance for his perceived crimes as he clung to a tiny slice of past pleasure wrapped in padded card.

“Hannibal!” Bloom’s demeanour swung from irritated to incredulous.

“I would apologise, Alana.” Hannibal reluctantly shifted the package to cover the shadow of his half-hard cock breaking the smooth, crisp front of his institutional jumpsuit. “But it’s not as if you haven’t seen it. And you certainly never afford me the courtesy of time unwatched to address my needs.”

“The book, Hannibal.” Bloom shook her head, banishing the thought. What tome could possibly be so interesting to warrant such an unashamed display on his part? He hadn’t even attempted to remove it from the envelope.

“You wish to censor my reading material?” He inquired.

“I do censor your reading material.” Bloom snapped. “If you’re going to be petulant, you know exactly how I choose to resolve these matters…”

“Do you ever find yourself yearning for the conviction and strength of a man’s physicality, Alana?” Hannibal mused, gaze predatory. “As much as you have grown to relish the dominant role you assumed in your professional life, and indeed I expect in the bedroom with Margot, I recall you taking considerable pleasure in submission.”

“I was unaware of what I was submitting to.” Bloom snapped tersely.   “The book. Now.”

“I see the pleasure you take in restraining me, Alana.” Hannibal wove his fingers inside the envelope. “As flattering as I find it, I won’t be affording you that opportunity today.”

He eased the book from the envelope, a smile flickering across his face as he read the title.

“Behind the Veil; Surviving the Ripper’ by Dr B. Du Maurier.” Hannibal held the handsome, hardcover book aloft for her to see.

Bloom struggled to mask her surprise. Du Maurier’s fanciful exposition had ensured she not only evaded prosecution but also solidified her financial stability, though clearly their Florentine adventure had been mutually beneficial...

“I believe it’s still on the Times best seller list.” Hannibal turned the book over thoughtfully.

“Dr Du Maurier is still adamant you drugged her…” Alana trailed off. “Jack Crawford is adamant she lied.”

“Perhaps I did.” Hannibal shrugged, inhaling the liberal dusting of her scent imbued inside the front cover. “Just as I killed Mason Verger.”

“You helped her tell the story she wanted to tell…” Bloom recalled the words, slowly shaking her head, an involuntary chuckle punctuating the movement.

“Every page of this book, every speaking engagement, every ounce of notoriety.” Hannibal mused. “Like your life, they all belong to me.” He juggled the book, dropping a hand to rearrange himself behind the envelope, now painfully hard.

“She knew precisely who you were and accompanied you of her own free will…” Bloom began, struggling to reconcile the facts as they gathered before her.

“Oh, Alana.” Hannibal smiled. “I thought you left that naivety behind in my kitchen all those years ago.”

“That and a litre of blood.” Bloom quipped. “Have you seen her since Florence?”

“No.” Hannibal sighed, retreating to his cot. He lay down, placing the book carefully over the bulge in the front of his jumpsuit. “I’ve been here since Florence.”

“You let her see you.” Bloom leaned on the glass, watching him as he shifted until he was comfortable.

“I didn’t need to, Alana.” He propped himself up on an elbow. “Bedelia always saw me.”

“I’ll let you have that moment.” Bloom offered quietly, casting a final glance over him before retreating.

“Thankyou.” Hannibal shifted, rolling to face the wall in an attempt to shield himself from the cameras.

“Fifteen minutes, Hannibal.” Bloom paused. “Then the cameras go back on.”

He sat up, an appreciative smile slowly spreading across his face.

“You choose to afford me a precious moment of dignity.”

“Fifteen minutes.” She repeated, watching as he reflexively palmed himself through the unyielding fabric of his jumpsuit. “And yes, I know Smith has been watching you in the shower. Which is why he’s no longer allowed to accompany you.”

The door closed behind her followed closely by the mechanised whirr of 4 electronic locks re-engaging. Hannibal watched the camera domes intently, wary of being fooled. Enough money had been banked at his expense.  After a few minutes, the red lights flickered off as promised.

He opened the book, slowly breaking the studs down the length of his jumpsuit. Hannibal began to tease himself through the thin fabric of his hospital-issue shorts, it had been some time since he’d felt the urge to address his needs, yet the smell of Bedelia’s perfume after all these years came as a veritable sensory overload. The bottle she left him still among the handful of items he surrendered at his incarceration, desperately hopeful that some day he may be afforded the opportunity to enjoy it once more. Eyes closed, recalling the delicate weight of her astride his hips, nipples skating his chest like unhoned diamonds as she leant down to kiss him, teeth cutting into his bottom lip at every thrust... His grip tightened, fingers twisting back on himself as he envisaged her hips torquing against his; the way she rocked back, purposefully extracting her pleasure from him as he struggled to hold on.

Hannibal came hard, stomach cramping as he vividly recalled the way she clamped down on him as she climaxed; the kiss of her sweat-slick skin against his as she lay splayed across his chest searching for composure. Her hips fit beneath his palms perfectly, breasts crushed against his chest, hair cascading over his shoulder as he held her. 

Hannibal glanced up at the glass ceiling above to find the guards absent.   He swiped a tissue to clean himself, suddenly acutely alone in his purpose-built prison.

Hannibal regarded the inside cover of the book with a considerate smile, a simple inscription overlaid by her perfume.

“H. For our nights behind the veil. – B”

**Author's Note:**

> \- I've taken the liberty to assume Bedelia also wrote a book to sure up her alibi and capitalise on her 'experience.'  
> \- Bedelia states that Hannibal sends her "A greeting card and a recipe on birthdays and Christian holidays" I doubt she'd reciprocate, but I enjoy the thought of her sending the book as an act of quiet provocation.


End file.
